


Born to Be [your dead sea]

by andachippedcup



Series: andachippedcup's Olicity Summer Sizzle Fics [4]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: A new(ish) spin on the ol' mermaid AU, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Olicity Summer Sizzle, Oliver is a damsel in distress, Selkie AU, Selkies, Shipwrecks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-06-27 20:59:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19797664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andachippedcup/pseuds/andachippedcup
Summary: Seven years after surviving the yacht sinking that killed his father, Oliver has no memory of how he survived, or how he came to be on the island that was his home for five years before his rescue. Lost in the wake of his mother's murder, he gets away from the city by going to the Queen family's summer beach cottage. The morning after his arrival, Felicity shows up at his door and changes everything when she reveals that she was the one to save him seven years ago and that she is a selkie - a magical creature that can turn from seal to human. Her arrival changes everything for Oliver and gives him newfound hope for the future. But there's a catch - Felicity can only come ashore once every seven years.[Olicity Summer Sizzle "Mermaid AU" prompt]





	1. Chapter 1

The storm that rages over the open ocean is an angry, powerful thing on this night. Even deep below the surface, the water churns and surges like a living, breathing thing. The world above the water’s surface is a riot of lightning as it rips the sky asunder. From down below, each lightning strike appears more blue than white and the light refracts in a thousand unpredictable ways through the water. A few seconds after the lightning cracks across the sky, the water dances with color as the bioluminescent organisms of the sea answer the lightning with light of their own making.

And it is in the midst of this treacherous storm that a single figure now moves, weaving through the choppy waves with ease. At first glance, the creature appears to be little more than an average seal, gray and white in color with dark speckles throughout the fur coat. But one look into the soulful, human-like blue eyes of the creature would quickly dispel the mistaken notion that there could be anything ‘normal’ about such a being.

She - for indeed, the creature is a female - is a creature born of more than mere flesh and blood. There is the magic of the old world flowing freely through her veins. Her kind was once called maighdeann-ròin - the seal maidens. Sadly, the memory of her people has been largely lost through the ages and now, her people have been forgotten by many and unheard of by most. 

To those that believe in them still, they are known as selkies. 

They are a people born of the sea but with a love of the land. In the water, they take the shape of seals and they swim with tremendous grace. On land, they shed their seal skins and walk in human form. But these creatures, pieced together with magic and shrouded in mystery as they are, come with a catch.

They can only take their human form and go ashore once every seven years. For a human, seven years might seem a long time but to the selkies - who age far more slowly in their seal form - seven years is but the blink of an eye. Time for them only passes normally when they are in their human form. Humans are of particular fascination to the selkies and it is the humans that often lure them to spend time away from the ocean every seven years when they are able to.

Most selkies take human lovers only for a brief affair while on land; it’s easier for them not to get too attached, knowing how brief their time on land will be. Some can resist the pull of the sea’s magic for only a few days or weeks before they must return to the water. A rare few can go as long as a few months before the magic in their blood compels them to return to the ocean. But in the end, whether or not they want to go they have no choice. They are made of the sea and to the sea, they will always return.

\-----

She breaks the surface in between lightning strikes. She gulps air in great gasps and as soon as she’s filled her lungs, she's bracing herself to plunge back below. But before she can, a distant yell, faintly heard over the din of the storm, draws her attention. 

And she should be wary; human men are notorious for trying to kill her people for their fur seal skins. Out of touch with the old stories, the humans are unaware that by stealing a selkie's seal skin, they are condemning the human form within to a lifetime on land, pining for the sea it has left behind. 

But this human is a long way from the normal routes the fishermen's ships take - or any ships, for that matter. And this storm is unrelenting. If she doesn't help him, she knows he'll fall victim to the sea, yet another life lost to the watery depths. The notion of humans dying at sea has always haunted her, the same as selkies dying on land. There's something unsettling about a creature dying far from all it knows and loves. _Alone_. 

To die that way is truly, her greatest fear. So, she cannot bear the thought of leaving this human to that horrible fate. 

Taking another deep breath, she dives below the choppy water and swims in the direction of his cries. What she finds startles her; a shipwreck, and a recent one at that. She swims the wreckage but all those she finds inside the ship’s battered hull have already perished. 

There is but one survivor and he is the one she heard crying out into the bleak, stormy night. He is clinging to a mangled piece of the ship's deck to stay afloat but she can tell he is growing weak. From underwater, she can see he is dressed in human clothes - a shirt, pants, and shoes that cling heavily to his body, weighing him down. He's too scared or confused to think to take them off and so the clothes continue to drag him down and sap his strength. 

Pushing her luck, she surfaces nearby him and studies him intently.

He's young; not quite a child but not yet grown into full manhood. He has a bit more filling out to do. It's hard for her to comprehend age in humans; selkies age differently and far slower, but she guesses he’s a young adult not yet in his prime. 

Before she can contemplate further, another wave crashes down on them and when she surfaces again, he's no longer clinging to the ship debris. She scans the surface but sees no sight of him. Diving below, she finds he’s been forced under by the wave. And though he’s fighting to make it to the surface, his fatigue is catching up with him; his kicks are weak and she can tell, he has little oxygen left. He’s fading. 

She doesn’t hesitate. In an instant, she swims beneath him and uses her body to propel him up, up, up until at last they break the surface. She hears him coughing and spluttering before gasping for breath. For a brief moment, she turns to look at him, to see for herself that he is really okay. When she does, she finds a pair of shockingly blue eyes staring into her own. And then, just as suddenly, the eyes close and the human slumps against her, unconscious. 

He’s heavy.

It takes a great deal of her strength to swim with him in tow but somehow, she digs down deep and finds the strength to do it. She keeps him balanced atop her back as she uses her flippers and tail to propel them through the raging water. They’re so far from the land his people come from, there’s no way she can bring him back to the mainland. But, there is an island not far from here. She never sees people on it but some land must surely be better than no land, right? 

She has no option; she can’t carry him much further. Already, her flippers are almost numb with the fatigue of bearing his weight in addition to her own.

It takes her a long time, longer than she cares to contemplate. Spending this long at the surface with a human man clinging to her back makes her feel vulnerable and uneasy. She’s heard enough stories of men stealing the skins of their selkie lovers to be fearful of them and her own interactions with them up to now have been limited at best. 

And yet… She saved this human. 

She doesn’t have the energy to dwell on this conundrum just now. Instead, she focuses on keeping them both afloat. Twice, the waves dislodge him from her back and she must swim frantically to retrieve him. By the time she sees the island in the distance, her own energy reserves are flagging but the storm has begun to weaken. 

Mercifully, they reach the island just before dawn. Carrying him becomes an impossible task as she lumbers onto the sand and she eventually rolls him off of her back and lets him lie on the sand with the waves lapping at his waist. 

He is safe. And she is exhausted. She moves off a few feet to give him some space, in case he should awaken before her, and then she falls into the deep sleep of the bone-weary. 

\-----

The last thing he remembers aboard the Gambit is the chaos; crewmen rushing by this way and that, his father shouting at him to get below deck over the howling winds, thunder splitting the air, and lightning streaking across the sky. He remembers the boat pitching and a deafening _CRACK_ before being flung overboard.

In the water, the chaos continues to reign. He can’t make heads or tails of his surroundings. The ship flashes in and out of view; the clouds have obscured the moonlight and he can only see when the lightning fans out overhead, illuminating the scene below. 

He tries to swim for the ship but wave after wave buffets him and before he know it, he’s cold down to his bones and his energy is flagging. He shouts and shouts for help but he’s just screaming himself hoarse with nothing to show for it. Gasping, he tries once more to make a swim for the ship, but the next turn of lightning reveals an empty horizon.

The ship has been lost to the sea. 

He screams out for his father, for anyone living. No one answers, but who could possibly hear him over the roaring storm still battling the sky for dominion above? Panic gives way to a deathly sense of calm. He is going to die here, lost at sea. 

A piece of the wreckage bobs nearby and he manages to swim to it and clings weakly to it but he knows he is only prolonging the inevitable. Already, he’s so tired. He won’t be able to hold on for much longer. Is anyone even coming? He doubts it; the storm came upon them so fast, there probably wasn’t time to get out an SOS. 

He's utterly exhausted when a wave sweeps over him and sends him spiraling down into the water with no concept of which way is up. He's disoriented and his energy is flagging as he fights to swim to the surface. 

He's going to die down here. They'll never find his body. His mother and sister will bury an empty coffin. 

Oliver Queen has just about given up hope when something solid pushes against him and propels him up to the surface. He coughs and sucks in air with reckless abandon, amazed and confused as to how he's been saved. He looks around for his rescuer and finds himself face to face with the most beautiful blue eyes he’s ever seen. They thoroughly shock him but even this spike of adrenaline isn’t enough to counter what he’s been through. His eyes widen as he looks into the mysterious eyes and then he promptly passes out.

The next time his eyes open, the treacherous storm has passed and instead of an endless line of blue, he is staring at waves lapping a sandy shoreline. Still groggy from his ordeal, he crawls up onto all fours, his fingers clenching the sand beneath them in disbelief. 

He… _he’s alive_? And he’s on land? 

He looks around, unable to believe this twist of fate. But it’s real; he’s on what looks to be an island. The distant tree line doesn’t reveal much to him but at the very least, it gives him the promise of shade and the hope of nourishment.

As he continues to take in his surroundings though, he realizes that, just a few feet away from him there’s a seal, sound asleep amidst the gently lapping waves. He’s no biologist – college for him consisted of Frat parties more than it did attending class – but he thinks that this seal looks unusual. 

Its fur is a gradient: pale white near the stomach, transitioning to a light gray on its back. Dark gray, black and dark brown spots speckle its sides and back. Delicate, long flippers lay motionless in the sand. It seems a bit bigger than the seals he’s seen before – longer and more slender than portly. Is it actually a sea lion? He forgets (if he ever even knew) what the difference between the two species is. Regardless, the creature – seal or sea lion – is remarkable, especially up close like this. But he doesn’t know if it will be dangerous when it wakes up and he’s certainly in no condition to fight it off if it is. 

Staggering to his feet, Oliver stumbles out of the water and towards the treeline. He makes it only a few yards before he becomes aware of a sharp pain in his side. When he looks down he sees the cause of it; some piece of shrapnel from the ship has pierced his right side. Unthinkingly, he grips it and wrenches it out. 

This proves to be a mistake. 

He howls with pain and with fear. The blood pours forth from his wound and his hands shake as he tries to staunch the flow. 

\-----

She wakes with a start to the sound of the human crying out in pain. Her nostrils fill with the scent of salt mixed with the metallic tang of blood and in an instant, she’s on the alert. She pulls herself up onto her flippers and glances around for the human. She spots him some ways off and she can see he’s clutching what looks (and smells) to be a wound. 

She does not hesitate to lumber towards him, ungainly and uncoordinated in her seal form now that she is upon land. A few feet from him she hesitates. She cannot help him in this form of hers. The only way to help him now is for her to shed her seal skin and take on her human form. And she must do so with him watching, no less. Because indeed, he’s seen her approach and his eyes are on her now, those perfectly ocean blue eyes that arrested her when she first saw them back at the wreck, once more wide with fear and with pain. 

There’s no choice to make. She's only ever ventured onto land in her human form once before, long ago, but she will do so again now. _For him._

She curls into a ball before him, the magic whispering through her body. Her eyes close as she gives herself over to it and just like that, she feels her fur loosen around her and go slack before it pools at her newly exposed feet where moments before, her flippers were.

\-----

The seal creature’s charge had frightened him; he’d thought for certain that the smell of blood had lured it to him and that it was coming to attack him. But instead, he finds it’s staring at him, with the same eyes that he remembers from back at the shipwreck, just before he passed out.

Well that’s not possible. Clearly he must have hit his head in the wreck, or he’s delusional. 

But Oliver Queen’s beliefs on the possible and the impossible are about to be stretched. Because one moment, he’s looking at the speckled gray and white seal and the next, the creature curls into a ball. Its figure ripples and shifts, then it's gone and a beautiful blonde woman is crouched where it once was, a fur skin puddled at her feet.

_What the actual hell?_

After a moment, she stirs and quickly grabs up the fur and pulls it around her. As he watches, she uses a nearby handful of washed up seaweed to tie the seal skin in place and just like that, she’s made a hasty dress. How very castaway chic of her. 

Then the next thing he knows, she’s kneeling before him, her hands held out before her tentatively.

“I-I mean you no harm.” 

Her voice is gentle and smooth; like a stream running over stones. Somehow, he finds this mystery woman trustworthy and soothing in the extreme. He nods wordlessly and she reaches toward his wounded side. She pokes and prods as delicately as she can and despite himself, he winces as she finds a tender spot. 

“I can help you. Just stay here.” She assures him and then she’s running back to the water and he’s left to wonder just how much sea water he must have ingested, to be hallucinating a seal-woman.

It must be a lot. Right? Because this is ridiculous. This is impossible. This is _insane_ . Or maybe it’s just that _he’s_ insane. Whatever the case, this can’t be real but the pain is certainly real enough that he’s not capable of running away from the crazy seal-woman even if he wanted to. 

She returns a short while later with a seashell full of salt water, a sea urchin, and a handful of plants. He has no clue how she’s come by these things and he doesn’t ask. As he watches, she pops pieces of what he suspects might be seaweed into her mouth, only to spit the pulpy mass out a minute later after thoroughly chewing it. She pours the sea water across his wound without warning and he yelps in pain as the salt water burns painfully.

“Sorry,” she apologizes, “I should have warned you this would hurt a little.” 

“Don’t sweat it.” He answers through gritted teeth and she cocks her head to the side at him uncomprehendingly. And he should be afraid of her but instead all he can think is that she looks breathtaking, even when looking at him like he has three heads.

“What?” 

“It means it’s fine. _I’m_ fine.” He waves a hand encouragingly at her. “I can take it. Just… do what you have to do.” 

Apparently, that entails taking her chewed up seaweed and packing it into his wound. He’s not a fan of this but he bears it in relative silence right up until she uses a spine from the sea urchin as a needle and some saltgrass as her thread to stitch him up.

Then he can’t help the soft noises of pain that he makes. She apologizes profusely and works quickly to finish stitching him up. All told, the whole thing takes less than half an hour but when she’s done, Oliver feels like he’s run a marathon. 

Breathing heavily, he accepts her offer of help to walk him to a sheltered spot beneath the palm trees. The sun is just coming up and really, he doesn’t need to add a bad sunburn to his list of problems right about now. 

The thing is, her attempts to help him walk? … Not exactly the most helpful. She herself seems a little unsteady on two feet, though she does her best to bear not just her weight, but some of his as well. All told, it takes them a few minutes to make it to the treeline and when they do, he’s grateful for the chance to get them both off of their feet. 

As they both sit recuperating beneath the palms, he can’t help but stare at her appreciatively. She’s beautiful, for one. Long blonde hair in natural, loose waves. Delicate features with lovely cheekbones – not too sharp and not too soft. Her eyes are a breathtaking shade of blue and when he looks into them, he feels like he’s staring into the heart and soul of the sea. She’s smaller than him by a fair bit but she’s perfectly proportioned. And it is this gentle, unassuming woman that has saved his life.

“Thank you.” He says after a while, when he’s finally able to collect himself enough to know he owes her a sincere display of gratitude. “I think I would have been in some serious trouble if you weren’t here to save me.” He confesses and she smiles, a soft blush entering her cheeks.

“I couldn’t look on and do nothing.” 

“Sure you could have. People do nothing every day.” Oliver counters, attempting to bolster her up. As far as he’s concerned, she’s a hero.

“Well it’s a good thing I’m not a person then, isn’t it?” She smiles with a quiet laugh before she leans forward to touch her hand to his cheek, where a dark bruise is forming. He’s confused by this comment – _not a person?_ – but her touch instantly silences his follow up questions. Instead he’s on pins and needles, waiting to see what she’ll do next. Her touch is like electricity on his skin and the sensation is so foreign and so pleasing that it takes his breath away. Her fingers run gently across the tender skin of his bruised cheek and then touch upon his chin, which she grasps firmly and turns from side to side as she takes him in.

“You’re lucky; you could have been hurt much worse. The wounds that you do have will heal - in time.” She lets his face go and leans back, smiling kindly at him. Oliver is speechless for a moment, too distracted by her beauty and too lightheaded from blood loss.

“Where did you come from? And where are we?” He asks her imploringly when he is finally able to do more than just ogle her.

“I came from the sea.” She smiles, as if this is the most obvious and natural answer in the world. 

“The sea?” He repeats, disbelief evident in his tone as he stares at her with raised brows. He’s not buying it. Clearly he was just worked up earlier, when he saw the whole ‘seal turn into a woman’ thing. That was just his imagination playing tricks on him. That was not, could not be, real.

She nods.

“Yes. The sea. I was just passing through this area though; normally I spend my time in more northern waters than this. I suppose it was a good thing I was here – if I hadn’t been, you wouldn’t be alive. And as for where we are...” She trails off and shrugs at him with an apologetic smile. “It was the only land nearby and I couldn’t swim you any further. You’re a little bigger than me, if you hadn’t noticed.” She adds with a soft laugh. 

She’s really doubling down on this sea lady thing. Huh.

“I’m sorry… So you think that you’re what a-a… a _mermaid_?” 

This sends her into a fit of giggles and it’s all she can do to regain her composure a few minutes later. Taking a deep breath, she gives one last breathy little chuckle and shakes her head.

“No. I’m not a mermaid.” 

“Then what are you?” 

“A selkie.” She says simply, gesturing to the fur tied around her, as if that should clear everything up.

“And I’m a manta ray.” Oliver remarks sarcastically, only for her to giggle again.

“No, you’re a human.” 

He blinks at her in disbelief but as the moments tick by and she’s still staring at him stoically, he realizes she’s not joking. 

“Wait… You’re serious?”

“Yes. You are a human.” She confirms calmly for him and he rolls his eyes at her. 

“No, I mean, you’re serious about you being a sel…sel-”

“-Selkie.” She offers with a nod. “Yes. I am.” 

Flopping back against a palm tree for support, Oliver mulls over his predicament. He’s wounded and will most likely be presumed dead along with the rest of the souls aboard the Gambit. No one is looking for him and he’s stuck on a potentially uncharted island with no one but a crazy woman for company. 

Not exactly ideal circumstances. 

“Okay. So, do uh Selkies have y’know… names?” 

“Of course we have names! We’re seal folk, not animals.” She chuckles, sitting up straighter. “My name is _Sonas_.” The sound she makes is entirely foreign to him and he has great difficulty processing the syllables as a word, let alone a name. 

“Sonas?” He struggles to repeat the bizarre sound that is her name and she nods. 

“It means ‘happiness’ in the old language. Your people would call me Felicity today though. The language has changed over the years.” She explains smilingly. “You can call me that instead, if that’s easier.” 

“Felicity.” He tests out the name; it rolls much more easily off of his tongue. Oliver relaxes at this and nods.

“Felicity it is then. I’m Oliver. I um… I don’t know what it means.” He confesses sheepishly but she doesn’t seem put off by this. Instead, she leans forward and grabs him by the chin and gently presses a kiss to his cheek, close to his lips but not quite touching them. 

“I’m glad our paths crossed, Oliver of the land. Be well.”

And then just like that, she starts to walk away from him. Caught off guard and suddenly terrified at the notion of being left alone on this deserted spit of land, he throws a hand out after her and calls to her.

“Wait! Where are you going?” 

She pauses at the water’s edge and turns back to him, the gray skin she wears as a dress now clutched before her in her hands. 

“I have to go back now. I can’t stay.” 

“But… What about me?” 

“You have a fire in you, Oliver. Don’t let it go out and you _will_ make it off this island. I know it. I believe in you.”

The panic is roaring in his ears and it’s like he’s back in that storm all over again as he watches her walk out into the water. And it shouldn’t be his primary concern, not when she’s about to leave him to fend for himself, but for some reason he finds himself asking the question pounding in his head.

“Will I ever see you again?” 

Knee deep in the surf now, she turns back to him and gives him a sad smile.

“For your own sake, hope that you do not. But if you ever have need of me, send seven tears into the sea, one for each of the seven seas. Your tears will find me wherever I am. And I, in turn, will find you.” 

As he watches, she walks out deeper into the water, until the oncoming waves are above her head. And then somehow, impossibly, she’s gone. He catches a brief glimpse of a dark, seal-like shape cresting the next wave, and then there is nothing.

\-----

_Seven Years Later…_

\-----

The blue-gray and white pebbles crunch beneath the tires of his Ducati Diavel as he brings the motorcycle to a screeching halt in front of the familiar, weathered gray and white beachfront cottage. Although ‘cottage’ is probably underselling it; in true Queen fashion, the property is unnecessarily expansive _and_ expensive, though in an effortless, beach-y kind of way.

“You always did know how to make a statement, Mom.” He sighs as he takes off his helmet and sets it on the bike before he walks up the wooden steps to the house beyond. 

For as long as he can remember, this has been the Queen family’s favorite summer getaway. This house has hosted so many summer soirees and has even been the location of a wedding or two for friends. 

Oliver remembers summers spent building sandcastles as a child and later, when he was older, summers spent kissing girls down at the pier. He remembers lemonades at sunset with Thea and his mother. And really, that’s why he’s come back here. For the memories. 

He’s only been home for two years now. After that fateful night when the storm struck and the Gambit sank, Oliver was presumed dead along with the rest of those aboard the ship. But somehow, against overwhelming odds, the bratty twenty two year old didn’t die in those first, trying days on the island. Or during the five years that followed. 

He lived. And after five years in his own personal hell, Oliver Queen was rescued by a wayward tanker that he managed to flag down by nearly setting the whole damn island ablaze. But it had worked. He’d been rescued and returned to the city he’d called home.

But Starling isn’t home. Not anymore. 

As he walks down the hallway, he stops at the family portrait of the Queens, his eyes carefully tracing across the faces of his battered and broken little family. 

His father, Robert. Perished at sea in the sinking of the Gambit, some seven years ago now.

His sister, Thea. She’s alive, thank heavens, but she’s sworn off Starling and is currently traveling the world. He gets the occasional postcard but otherwise, they don’t talk much. He knows she’s trying to find herself but her absence cuts him deeply. They’ve already lost five years; he doesn’t want to lose any more time. 

His eyes pass over his own face in the family portrait, smiling back at him all young and cocky, and full of life. Oliver Queen is alive, but not _this_ Oliver Queen. The Oliver in this portrait died on the island and was reborn. It is the new Oliver that is standing here in his family’s summer home. It is the new Oliver that is hesitating to look at the last remaining Queen family member in the photo.

His mother, Moira. Murdered in cold blood two months ago on the streets of a quickly destabilizing Starling City. 

Oliver feels the pain breaking free of the box he’s tucked it away in and he quickly steps away from the photo, breathes deeply, and continues down the hall. He’s come here to get away from the city he can no longer face and to feel closer to the mother he’ll never see again. 

He sheds his motorcycle jacket and hangs it up on one of the barstools at the kitchen island. The refrigerator is fully stocked – the staff have already been here, clearly. They’ve taken all the protective sheets off the furniture, cleaned, stocked the kitchen and the bar. He’s grateful – in his grief, he feels incapable of accomplishing such tasks. 

He grabs a tote bag from the pantry and loads it with all the beer it can hold. For good measure, he grabs the handle of vodka out of the liquor cabinet. He walks out of the house, not even bothering to close the screen door behind him as he goes. 

The path to the beach is so familiar, he could walk it with his eyes closed. He practically does, because he’s so busy fumbling with the beer bottles. He hasn’t brought an opener but he doesn’t want to go back for one. Instead, he stops and steadies the bottle against the pathway’s wooden handrail, and uses it to force the bottle cap off.

He guzzles the first beer down without stopping and throws the empty bottle back in the bag before he fishes out a full one. He opens this one in the same manner as the first and proceeds towards the beach, his focus on the bottle and not where he’s going. 

His feet sink into the sand and instantly, he feels more relaxed. It’s hard to get used to wearing shoes again when you spent years without them. And even now, two years later, he’s still most at ease with his bare toes in the sand. He feels more connected and somehow, safer. 

Oliver walks until he finds a spot that feels right. It takes a little while – and he’s thankful that there’s no one around to see him as he wanders around collecting pieces of driftwood. He piles up the pieces, intent on starting a bonfire for the ages. It would be easy to use lighter fluid and a match – there’s plenty of both just up at the cottage. But old habits die hard and he starts the fire by hand, the way he’s done countless times before. 

His mother always loved to start the summer season with a massive bonfire and a barbeque to welcome everyone back for another summer of sand and surf. Now that she’s gone, he feels obligated to carry on at least part of the tradition in her stead. He could get in trouble with the local police department if they catch him lighting a fire under the influence, but he doesn’t care. There’s no one around to see – the nearest neighbors are a long ways off in either direction. 

The Queens, after all, enjoyed their privacy and they had the money to ensure that they got it. Privacy – another supposed perk of being rich; after five years alone, Oliver’s had enough of ‘privacy’. He wants intimacy, he wants companionship, he wants a partner. 

But now he is parentless and alone and hasn’t had a proper date since before the island. Somehow, after traveling halfway around the world to return to those he loves, he’s managed to lose them all and has never felt more alone. 

He watches as his feverish attempts at making fire yield fruit: sparks shower down suddenly and just as quickly, the sparks grow into a full blown flame. He watches the fire expand and reach for the sky and in that moment, he misses his mother so much, it brings him to his knees and he screams. In his rage, he throws the second bottle of beer (empty now) and screams again before he falls to his hands and knees in the sand, his breathing ragged. 

He’s being ridiculous, he knows. But he hurts. He hurts _badly_. 

When he was rescued, his troubles were supposed to be over. He was going to go home and make up for lost time. He was going to be with his family. He was going to find _the_ girl. Honor his father’s memory. Be a good big brother. He was going to _make something of himself_.

And instead he’s still spinning his wheels - no real job, just an inheritance, no girl, no family, and he’s done nothing to honor his father or his family. He’s just sitting on the shore at his family’s beachfront property, screaming at the sky and all he wants to know is _why_? Why let him survive the shipwreck and the years on the island, only to give him back almost everything he dreamed of and then wrench it all away? 

He doesn’t have answers. But he does have vodka. He opens the bottle and drinks straight from it. He’s probably going to regret this tomorrow. But on the long list of Oliver Queen’s regrets, this won’t even crack the top twenty. 

After he’s downed an obscene amount of liquor, he’s aware of the buzz growing in his brain. It should be pleasant, but it isn’t. It should bring relief, but it doesn’t. There’s nothing he can do and nowhere he can go to escape the pain of his losses and failures. 

“It should have been me that died!” Oliver screams up at the moon and stars. In his rage, he hurtles the bottle of vodka into the fire. The glass shatters and the flames _whoosh_ as the fire momentarily swells to terrifying heights. Even from a yard and a half away, the heat is uncomfortably hot on his skin but Oliver doesn’t care.

The anger leeches out of him as quickly as it came crashing in and he is left only with the hurting and the heartache. 

Deflated without his rage to fill him up, Oliver walks out knee deep into the surf and stares at the horizon. He feels lost and incomplete and _broken_. And now, with his mother dead and his sister incommunicado? He doesn’t know how to put himself back together. Worse, he doesn’t know if anyone will even care if he doesn’t. 

Despite all his attempts to shut his hurt away, the box he’s tried to compartmentalize his feelings in is open and it is a Pandora’s box of emotion. The dam has broken. And despite his best efforts not to, Oliver Queen breaks down knee deep in the North Atlantic. The tears fall hot and fast and he tries to brush them away but despite his efforts, they keep coming.

A few fall from his face and land on the surface of the water below. First one. Then another. And another. He drags his sleeve across his face and wipes the tears away but still, the tears come. Another strikes the water’s surface. Another tear trembles on his chin before finally, gravity pulls it down and it falls into the waiting water below. Another joins it a moment later. 

As Oliver sniffs and pulls himself together, one final, fateful tear just misses being brushed away by his hand. It is frozen for a moment, suspended in time. And then it too, falls to the water below.

Seven tears, shed into the sea. 

With a last, shuddering breath, Oliver lifts his head up and stares at the sky overhead. He doesn’t know why he has been spared. He doesn’t know what his purpose is in this world yet. But for the memory of his parents, he will try to find his way. 

He stands at the ocean’s edge for quite some time, trying to find the energy to return to his empty family home. The emptiness of the house is a stark reminder of the emptiness in his own life and the parallel is not lost on him. 

When at last he staggers back to the shore, he kicks sand on the roaring fire until, finally, he extinguishes it. Slinging his bag of booze over his shoulder, he stumbles back up the path and into the house, where he falls into bed without bothering to change. He is exhausted and intoxicated and sand in the sheets will be a problem for him to worry about tomorrow. 

Just as Oliver closes his eyes and falls asleep within the warm comfort of the Queen cottage, a disturbance ripples the surface of the water where, not long ago, Oliver stood and cried out into the night. 

The ripples grow larger and then, with a soft splash, a young woman breaks the surface of the water. Her blonde hair glows in the moonlight, as does her bare skin. In her hands, she carries a sleek gray-white, speckled seal skin. 

It has been seven years since the selkie last saw Oliver. But his tears have summoned her here. And for the magic singing through her veins, she is powerless to resist. 

Her eyes scan the recently deserted beach and she takes in the evidence of the fire, the embers still giving off heat as she passes by. Her eyes follow the footprints in the sand to a wooden plank boardwalk that leads up to a stately cottage in the distance. Instinctively, she knows that’s where he is. And come morning light, it is there that she will present herself to him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Delving a little deeper into the Selkie mythology this chapter. Fair warning, I'm playing a little fast and loose with it because 1) why not, that's half the fun and 2) there's not a TON out there about them so why not fill in some of the gaps, eh? Enjoy! :)

He wakes in the morning, bleary eyed and disoriented. He sits up and surveys his surroundings, blinking in confusion until the memory returns to him. _The beach house_. As the memory returns, he huffs a sigh of relief. 

Ever since the Gambit sank, he’s struggled with the gaps in his memory. Namely, the fact that he can’t remember anything from the time he hit the water until after he made it safely to the island. That gap of memory haunts him. He needs to know what he has forgotten. His therapist insists these memory gaps are simply his brain’s way of shielding itself from painful truths. Oliver believes it’s something more than that. He just doesn’t know what that ‘something more’ actually _is_. 

He sits up and takes a deep breath, then pauses as his brain catches up to his senses. 

He can smell eggs cooking. Actually, he can smell eggs _burning_. But the staff shouldn’t be here today. Alert and a little on edge now, he stumbles out to the kitchen, thankful that his head is only spinning a little - it seems that his emotional breakdown last night cut his drinking short before he’d had enough to cause a truly regrettable hangover. 

It’s a pleasant surprise not to be _completely_ hungover. But the fact that someone uninvited is cooking in his kitchen tempers his enthusiasm. He rounds the corner ready to scare off the intruder but when he catches sight of her, he forgets his anger, at least for a moment. 

At his stove, there’s a petite blonde frowning over a pan of eggs that have begun to lightly smoke. She pokes at them with a fork and a look of complete and utter consternation. It’s so adorable that he accidentally lets out a soft laugh, which draws her attention and _wow_.

Her eyes are mesmerizing and when they meet his, he feels a shiver of familiarity. She smiles and his mind goes blank for a moment.

_She’s gorgeous._

“Hey,” she murmurs softly and her voice is like sunshine - bright and light and airy. 

“Uhm… Hey.” He responds back, pleasantly befuddled. 

“I thought you might want something to eat.” She explains, not seeming to notice or care that the situation is bizarre in the extreme. She gestures towards the stove, her frown returning. “I’m not sure that I did it right though.” She confesses and he’s still so swept up in her he doesn’t have the heart to tell her just how badly she’s failed this breakfast. 

But he’s completely missing the point. The point is, he doesn’t know who the woman standing in his kitchen is. But she’s clearly not the staff and he’d almost guess that he’d had a drunken one night stand with her last night except for one small thing: he didn’t black out last night. And he didn’t sleep with anyone. So who the hell is she and how did she get here? 

“I-I’m sorry. This is incredibly awkward but… who are you? And ah… What are you doing in my kitchen?” 

In response to his words, she tilts her head at him in confusion, and _there_ , the frown is back and it's just as adorable this time as it was a moment ago when she looked at the eggs. 

“It’s me… Sonas. _Felicity_.” She explains and for some reason, the foreign sounding word and the name she gives after it stir some faint wisp of familiarity in his memory but he can’t quite place it. He’s still staring at her hard when she brushes a strand of hair out of her face and looks at him in puzzlement. “And I’m here because you called for me.” 

_Huh?_

He didn’t have _that_ much to drink last night. He can’t have. There’s no way he called for her. Who would he have even called? This isn’t the city - this is remote beach territory. Call girls aren’t a thing out this way. And he is _not_ a call girl kind of guy. 

“I think there’s been a mistake,” he begins but before he can go any further, the eggs begin to smoke in earnest, and the smoke quickly begins to fill the kitchen. 

He rushes forward and turns off the stove, then takes the pan and rushes to the sink with it and dumps the charred contents inside. They’re both coughing and spluttering when he sets the empty pan on an unused burner and she looks completely abashed. 

“I’m so sorry, I should have known better, I have no idea what I’m doing in here.” 

“I hadn’t noticed.” He teases and she pauses to look at him to confirm he’s teasing before she relaxes. “It’s fine. How about you sit down and I can make us something while you explain how exactly I called for you and where you came from. Sound good?” 

She hesitates, staring at him in confusion.

“You… You don’t remember?” 

Oof. Yeah, he’s busted alright.

“I had a bit of a night last night. Drank some. Had an emotional breakdown. It’s fair to say I wasn’t at my finest and I think I just need a little assistance connecting the dots this morning, if you don’t mind helping me out.” 

She’s quiet a moment, and then: “I never mind helping you out.” 

Huh. That makes it sound like this isn’t the first time she’s helped him. But he would remember that face. She’s stunning. He can’t help himself; as he makes breakfast (crepes and omelettes) he steals little glances at her. She’s wearing a loose fitting white dress that comes down to just above her knees. She’s slender and well toned, with pale skin and the lightest little dusting of freckles. 

He returns his focus to the stove as he continues working on breakfast, so he doesn’t see when she rises and walks towards him. It’s only when her hand lands on his arm that he turns, startled.

She kisses him on the cheek, almost brushing his lips but just barely missing them. He’s so startled that he doesn’t react at first and by the time he processes what’s happening, he’s too engrossed in her to care. 

She smells _incredible_ . Which is _so not_ the thing he should be focusing on when there’s a strange woman kissing the side of his face but it’s true. She does. He can pick up on the notes of sea air, briny and fresh. There’s a hint of driftwood too and the faintest touch of beach juniper, hidden in all of it.

When she pulls away, he’s left a little dizzied by her proximity. She cups the side of his face in one hand and she stares deep into his eyes. As he stares back, the nagging sense of familiarity grows stronger. It builds and it builds and then, as she runs her thumb across his lips, electricity seems to go through him at the touch. And then, just like that, his mind buckles unexpectedly beneath a tidal wave of memories. 

_A stormy sea. Lightning. The loud CRACK of the ship breaking. The water clawing at him as it drags him down below. And then, suddenly, a solid warmth pushing him back to the surface. And a pair of mesmerizing blue eyes._

In a torrent, it all comes back to him and he staggers under the weight of it all. 

_Waking up on the beach. A seal beside him. The shrapnel injury. Pain and blood. The seal changing before his very eyes. Changing into a woman, holding a seal skin before her._

He remembers. He remembers _everything_. 

He takes a step back from her with a sharp inhale of surprise, his eyes wide and searching as he looks at her with newfound understanding and newfound sources of confusion. 

“ _Felicity_?” He gasps, not bothering to try and pronounce her old world name. He likes Felicity best anyway. She smiles at him and nods. 

“You called for me with your tears, just like I told you to. So, here I am.” 

\-----

They talk until late in the morning. Their breakfast sits cold and forgotten as he mines her for details that have been long hidden from him. She tells him the story of his rescue, from her perspective. He tells her of his years on the island, the hardships he endured, the moments he thought he wouldn’t survive. He tells her the story of his rescue and she nods along like she’s heard it all before. That’s when she reveals to him that she was there.

She was there all along over the course of his five years lost to the island - doing her level best to protect and help him.

“So all this time… You’ve been watching over me?” He asks in amazement and she shrugs shyly. 

“Well, I tried to,” she murmurs, “but I couldn’t do much when you were rescued and brought back to your city, so far inland. I followed the ship as far as I was able but once you made it to land, I couldn’t follow.” 

“But all those years on the island…?”

“I watched from the beach, or the ocean close to shore.” She grins at his astonished expression. “I didn’t want anything to happen to you. So, for those five years you were on the island I tried to make sure you were okay.” 

“So all those times I would conveniently find things washed up on the shore that I needed…?” 

“I tried to help you as best as I could. If you needed a sea urchin or a bit of kelp, it was easy enough for me to bring some up from the ocean floor.” She shrugs shyly; she doesn’t want him to make a fuss. But he’s flabbergasted. She’s been doing her level best to take care of him for _years_ now. 

He’s silent for a moment as he reviews his memories of his time on the island. How many times did he catch fleeting glimpses of a seal out in the water? He remembers seeing one often when he fished. And then it dawns on him.

“You chased fish into the shallows for me to catch, didn’t you?!”

She ducks her head but he still catches sight of the blush coloring her cheeks as she makes a noise of agreement and nods. How many times did she save him from starvation by chasing food right to his doorstep? Good god. She’s done more than he ever could have dreamed. For years, all she did was look out for him. 

It’s such a novel concept to him to have someone stick by him. Especially now, when he feels like his life is a boat taking on water and everyone around him is jumping ship rather than helping him to bail the water out. Oliver feels his heart swell with love for the woman (creature?) before him. Whatever she is, she is exceedingly kind, that much is clear.

“Felicity...You’re remarkable.” He breathes, so in awe of her in that moment that it’s all he can do just to keep his heart beating.

“Thank you for remarking on it.”

A comfortable silence envelopes them and he can’t help staring at her more openly now. There’s quite literally a piece of mythology sitting in his kitchen and that mythology is absolutely breathtaking. 

“Felicity, why didn’t I remember you until now? All this time, I’ve been told that the trauma of the yacht sinking was probably too much for my mind, so I blocked it out. But… now that you turned up, it all came rushing back. Why?” 

She stares at the floor, at her _feet_ , he realizes, and there’s a hint of self consciousness in her voice as she speaks. As if what she’s about to share is embarrassing or in some way might upset him.

“First meetings with my kind can be hazy and difficult for humans to remember. Often, they forget much of their first interaction with a selkie; sometimes all of it entirely. You were so shocked when you watched me transform, I think the magic was too much for you to comprehend, especially on top of everything else. So instead of the memory being fuzzy, it faded to the background, almost completely forgotten. Now that I’m here, it’s at the forefront again.” 

“Does that mean… If you were to leave tomorrow, would I forget again? Would I remember any of this?” 

“You would remember this time. It’s different now, especially since you summoned me. We’re connected now. Forever.” 

“So does that mean… If I called you here...with my tears, are you here to stay now?”

Her features change quickly, like clouds building up suddenly over the open ocean. She shakes her head slowly, her gaze falling to her folded hands in her lap. 

“No...I can’t stay. Not long, anyway. Your tears brought me here and I wanted to answer the call. But I can still only come ashore once every seven years. And even though you summoned me, I can’t stay here for too long. Eventually, the ocean will bring me back. It can’t be helped; the magic in my blood that lets me change shape? It must answer the water’s call. Even if I wished to stay here, I would eventually be forced to return. A selkie’s place is in the sea.” 

She’s struggling to explain it, not because it’s a complex subject, he thinks, but because the subject matter is emotionally difficult. Being unable to control something as simple as where you want to live must be hard, he thinks and with a pang, he realizes that as attached as he is to her already, he’ll soon be saying goodbye. The question is - how soon? 

“So… How long do you have before you have to return?”

She’s silent in the face of his question, her features screwed up in concentration and _God._ She’s so damn cute with her face so focused in thought, it’s impossible not to fall for her a little. But this is dangerous territory. She’s just said she can’t stay. And the last thing he needs in his life right now is another heartbreaking goodbye. Besides, he barely knows her. 

“I can’t know for sure. Some of us can only stay ashore a very short while - maybe a few days - before the ocean’s pull becomes too great. Others have been able to resist for as long as a couple months. It depends on how great the pull of the land is on the Selkie.” She tries to explain, her eyes lifting back to his with such focus that it makes him shiver. Before he can think better of it, he blurts out the question on his mind.

“And how strong is ‘the pull of the land’ for you?” 

Their eyes are locked on one another and then.

“Strong. _Very_ strong. I hardly feel the ocean at all right now.” 

Despite himself, Oliver takes a step towards her seated figure at the kitchen island barstool, his eyes still trained on her. He can feel an inexorable pull, drawing him towards her despite everything she’s just said. She might not be able to stay but heaven help him, already he doesn’t know how to let her go. 

He’s standing over her and the desire to kiss her is so strong. But he hesitates.

She’s been back in his life for all of less than twenty four hours, and he’s only been aware of her existence for less than half that time. He doesn’t have any business kissing her. Not the way he _wants_ to kiss her. So he settles for a kiss to her forehead, soft and chaste and sweet. 

“Thank you… for coming here for me… It was very kind of you. And you’ve already helped me so much by helping me remember everything that had been lost in my memories.” 

She looks up at him, her eyes a-sparkle.

“I will always be here for you, whenever you need me.” 

\-----

The next few days pass in a delightful blur. They spend each waking moment together that they possibly can. And despite the strong desire burning in his gut, Oliver resists making any advances on her. 

She’s been very clear that she can’t stay. There are otherworldly forces at work that will compel her to go, be it in a few days or a few weeks or a few months. And though he believes she feels what he does too, neither of them needs or wants the heartbreak that such a brief love affair would undoubtedly bring. 

Friendship is the smarter, better option for both of them, he tells himself repeatedly. So instead of pinning her against a wall and kissing her breathless, he makes conversation and gets to know everything he can about her, her kind, her life - all of it. 

He learns that most selkies are drawn to the land. Many of them are lighthearted and joyous in nature. Some will have brief love affairs on land and then return to the sea with renewed love for their ocean home and for the humans above. They almost never stay long enough to form attachments that might compromise their attachment to the world below. But a select few do. These selkies are often torn between their home under the water and the love they find on land. A rare few have their skins stolen from them by humans while they are ashore. Without their seal skins, selkies are unable to transform back into their sea-dwelling shape and they are trapped on land. They begin to age like regular humans as the magic in their veins grows weaker and weaker. If ever they find their skins though, the magic that remains in them immediately compels them to return to the sea, oftentimes permanently - never to transform back into their human shape again.

And if their skin is permanently damaged - such as through being burned - then they can never, _ever_ return to the sea. That kind of loss is hard on the selkies and the magic inside them sometimes burns out entirely because of it. Staying ashore long term is a dangerous game for her species. Which is why so few ever dare attempt it. 

He feels tremendous guilt at having wished her to stay for a few months instead of a few weeks. But he can’t help it. He wants every moment he can get with her, wants it more than he can explain. 

The ocean is more beautiful and more dangerous than ever he knew. She describes it as one would a living thing, like a close personal friend. She has witnessed incredible storms, encountered strange creatures, and she knows a million different shades of blue and what they mean under the water. He asks her to describe them to him and she does with perfect clarity. They pass an entire day with her pointing out various shades of blue that they encounter and telling him what such a blue signifies to one who lives at sea such as she. 

The Atlantic is a dusky, dark blue. This is the color she most often associates with home. Turquoise means white sand beaches and white rocks in tropical places - this makes her think of him and the island, she confesses. Indigo means deep water and mystery and a hint of danger. Water that’s blue-brown in color is full of sediment and makes for unpleasant swimming. It makes her feel grimy and gross. All day long, she paints a picture of the ocean for him with the blues all around them here on land. 

Every day they talk. And every night, he walks her to the guest room he’s set up for her. He’s a perfect gentleman and never goes past the doorway.

It is extremely difficult to exercise this degree of self control. 

The more they talk and get to know one another on a deeper level, the more abundantly clear it becomes to him that he cares for her. _Deeply_. And he knows she feels the same for him - she’s been watching over him for years, doing everything in her power to care for him. Everything she’s told him since she came ashore has only confirmed that. Why else would she do all that she could to safeguard him and his heart from heartbreak, when she seems to feel the same as he does? He’s caught her staring at him the same way he’s done to her. She talks openly about thinking of him and missing him for the last two years, when he was too far inland for her to check on. 

This is more than just a simple friendship. It’s deeper. He knows that. But it also cannot be. Because, sooner or later, she will have to leave. And neither of them will be able to handle the hurt if they move from friends to lovers and then must say goodbye. Saying goodbye as friends will be hard enough.

She’s the only person he’s got right now who makes getting up each day feel worthwhile. The very notion of her absence already haunts him after just a few days with her. So he keeps things as platonic as he possibly can. For both their sakes. 

He suggests a day at the pier ‘in town’ on her fifth day ashore. She enthusiastically agrees. And that’s how he somehow ends up hand in hand with her as they stroll down the boardwalk. He tells himself it’s just so that she doesn’t get lost or separated from him. But they both know the truth. Despite their best efforts not to, they’re falling for each other. 

On the morning of her sixth day here (his seventh at the cottage), he awakens to the soft sounds of movement. _Raisa_. He’s forgotten to inform her that Felicity is here and he doesn’t want to startle her. Oliver hurries to get dressed and goes out into the main house, only to find that Felicity is already awake and helping Raisa with the cleaning. He walks out on them sharing a laugh, though what over, he has no idea.

“Umm.... Good morning.” He greets the pair, who both smile at the sight of him. 

“Good morning.” Felicity greets him in a quiet voice, suddenly bashful in his presence. Raisa eyes him keenly though and is slower to respond as she looks from him to Felicity and back again.

“Good morning Mister Oliver.” She murmurs with a knowing smile. “I did not know you had a visitor; I didn’t mean to disturb you. Should I leave you two alone?” Raisa asks pointedly because yeah, she’s perceptive and it doesn’t exactly take a genius to put two and two together. Oliver doesn’t know how to tell her that in this instance, two and two doesn’t equal four.

“No Raisa, it’s fine. Felicity is a friend. She’s visiting for a little while. I’m sorry I forgot to tell you.” He apologizes, touching her elbow and giving her a warm, apologetic smile. Raisa isn’t just an employee. She’s basically family. He honestly would have told her at least a little about Felicity if he had known about her before she turned up. And since she showed up? Well… he hasn’t thought of anyone or anything else but her, honestly. 

Looking to Felicity next, he apologizes again.

“And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that Raisa would be here. I hope that you weren’t alarmed.” 

“Not at all. Raisa and I have been chatting. She’s wonderful. And she’s been telling me all kinds of stories about _you_ when you were younger.” Felicity grins at him and Oliver pales a little. 

“I can explain myself.” He begins to defend himself, only half teasingly. He wasn’t exactly the best kid growing up. Hell, he wasn’t exactly the best _person_ prior to the shipwreck. 

“You don’t have to. I like hearing the stories. And I know who you are _now_.” Felicity’s reassurance cuts through his panic and calms him instantly. Because he knows it’s true - she really does know the man he is now. And if she likes him, that guy can’t be half bad, he supposes. 

“Miss Felicity has been helping me with my work. I told her she didn’t need to but she said she wouldn’t take no for an answer.” Raisa interjects with grudging acceptance. Raisa is meticulous and very particular but Oliver can tell that Felicity’s desire to be helpful has met with Raisa’s approval. And that means a hell of a lot - Oliver can’t remember Raisa ever speaking approvingly of a woman he’s dated or brought home. And he’s brought home plenty of them over the years, before the island. 

“Felicity is very determined when she sets her mind to something. And she’s adamant about helping people.” Oliver holds Felicity’s eyes as he says the words, delighting in the warm glow of her and how she squirms a little at his praise. But it’s true, every word. 

“Well, I just do what I’d want someone to do for me. That’s all. And besides, it’s the right thing to do.” She shrugs, trying to downplay her behavior but Oliver feels his heart swelling all the more as he listens to her. Felicity’s kindness is boundless. 

“Miss Felicity, will you take this outside to the patio table? I will send Mister Oliver to join you in a minute. You have helped me enough. Now, I make you breakfast.” Raisa insists, holding up a hand to forestall any objections of Felicity’s. Felicity bites her lower lip, then nods and steps forward to accept the pitcher of orange juice that Raisa has no doubt, squeezed fresh and by hand this morning. Casting a glance back at Oliver over her shoulder, she heads for the patio.

“Thank you Raisa!” She calls brightly and Raisa smiles and nods. When the patio doors click closed behind Felicity though, Raisa turns on him a little threateningly, brandishing a wooden spoon before her.

“What are you doing with this girl?” 

Has he read the situation wrong? Does Raisa actually _dislike_ Felicity? Is that even possible? Oliver swallows thickly but proceeds with the truth.

“I’m not doing anything, Raisa. We really are just good friends. She helped me out a long time ago and she knew I needed help again now so she showed up here. She’s only going to stay a little while, no more than a couple months. Felicity… she’s different. But there’s nothing going on between us. I promise. You can check the rooms - she’s been staying in the guest suite and I’ve been in the master.” He vows and Raisa stares at him hard, then bops him on the head with the spoon.

“You are a fool if you let her get away, Mister Oliver. You’re right. She _is_ different. And she is good for you. You are good for her too. I see it.” Raisa points at both her eyes with one hand, then at him to drive her point home. “I can tell how much you care for each other. Don’t let her go without telling her how you feel.” 

She pats his hand gently, then shoos him from the kitchen with a plate of fresh cut fruit, assuring him she’ll have breakfast for the pair ready in twenty minutes. 

“You should go for a walk together,” she recommends with a gleam in her eyes, “the beach is very peaceful this time of day.” 

When Oliver goes out onto the patio, he finds Felicity leaning on the balcony railing, her eyes closed in the brisk morning sea breeze. When she hears him come outside though, she smiles and her eyes open as she turns to face him.

“Hi.” 

“Hey.” 

They shift awkwardly for a moment and then Oliver gestures back to the cottage.

“Raisa has been with my family for as long as I can remember… She practically raised me.” 

“That’s what it sounded like. She’s wonderful; you’re lucky to have her.” 

He nods, smiling at her words. Felicity’s right - he was and still is lucky to have Raisa, especially at a time like now, when he’s been so lost. 

“She’s not usually one to let people help her. She must really have liked you.” 

Felicity shrugs, uncertain.

“I don’t know if she did or not, but I really like her. She cares for you. And she takes care of you. I’m glad to know that during those years when I couldn’t be there for you, someone else was.” 

Oliver stands before her uncertainly, rubbing his fingers against one another nervously. Moving slowly, he comes to stand alongside Felicity, looking out at the beach beyond. 

“It’s um… It’s a beautiful morning… Would you care to go for a walk with me?” He inquires and Felicity flashes him a smile and nods.

“I’d like that. “

He offers her his arm and she takes it with an easy sense of familiarity. As he guides them down to the beach, he can’t help but breathe her in. She still carries the smell of the salt spray of the sea on her but now it’s mingled with the smells of fresh linen and the vanilla of the shampoo she’s been using.

They stroll arm in arm down the beach, making idle conversation about nothing and everything. One of the things that he loves about Felicity is that she is equally comfortable sharing his company in silence as she is carrying on a conversation with him. She doesn’t feel the need to fill the quiet moments with words but instead, lets them unfold as they shall. It’s refreshing and he treasures that about her. They can simply _be_ together and it’s still magical. 

As they reach a small part of the beachline that juts out into the water, they walk to the edge of it and stand staring out at the rolling expanse of ocean before them. 

“Felicity,” he breathes, trying to steady himself, “can I ask you something?” 

She tears her eyes away from the ocean and looks up to him, then nods.

“Of course.” 

“Why stay? I know that I summoned you here with my tears but you said that every day you spend away from the ocean, it tries to pull you back. That must be difficult.” It’s spoken as a statement but it’s really a question and she picks up on this easily. 

“It’s hard to be away from it - I miss it every day,” she confesses slowly and with great care, “but the pull of it hasn’t been that strong just yet. Sometimes I’m reminded of it like a little twinge of longing but then I just think of you and the twinge fades away to nothing.”

This steals the breath out of his lungs, to know that all she needs to do is think of him and that’s enough to overcome the magic that compels her to leave. Maybe Raisa was right. Maybe he should tell her how he feels. 

“I stay because I care about you, Oliver. And I want to be here, with you, for as long as I can be before the sea calls me back.” Felicity explains, looking at him with a look he can’t quite place. Is that longing? Is that lust? Or is that just wishful thinking on his part? “You mean a lot to me. I just want to help you, however I can. I-Is that alright?” 

He’s speechless for a moment and then he clears his throat once, then twice, and he nods. 

“Yes, Felicity. That’s alright. I care about you too. And you will always be welcome wherever I am.” 

He can’t seem to find the words to tell her the full truth - that he wants her by his side each and every day. That he’s falling for the easy way she smiles, the soft sound of her laugh, and the way her eyes sparkle when they meet his. Instead, he just keeps her arm through his and leads them back to the cottage, where Raisa has breakfast waiting for them.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s a week and a half into her time on shore when the sound of wheels on gravel jolts him awake. He’s overslept - he was up half the night with Felicity, looking at the stars and talking. It’s after ten o’clock now and as Oliver lumbers to his feet, he can’t think of who might be arriving here. 

That’s when he hears the door open and an all too familiar voice calls out loudly down the hall, making Oliver’s heart hammer. 

“WAKEY WAKEY!” Tommy shouts as he slams the front door behind him. Oliver doesn’t have time to think, he just races down the hall in nothing but his boxers. The last thing he needs is Tommy scaring the ever loving shit out of Felicity. 

“Tommy!” He growls in an undertone as he slides around the corner and appears at the top of the staircase overlooking the entryway. 

“There he is! Man of the hour. Come on, get dressed, I’m taking you out for breakfast and we’re going to get you out of this house.” Tommy explains, waving a hand before him to prompt Oliver to go and get ready. Instead, Oliver races down the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. 

“That is a great idea buddy, but I’m not gonna be able to do that.” Oliver rushes, glancing back up the staircase. Still no Felicity. He really hopes she isn’t already up. He’d really rather not try to explain things to his best friend and if Tommy sees Felicity, there’s no force on Earth that will make him believe she and Oliver are just friends. And Tommy won’t let it go if he suspects Oliver is hiding a girl from him (especially a girl he has real feelings for). 

“Nope. Sorry. I am not taking no for an answer.” Tommy balks, crossing his arms in front of him steadfastly. “You have been moping up here for just shy of two weeks now. It’s time to get some fresh air and get you outta this place. Come on. If we hurry we can still make breakfast at the diner. And if that doesn’t sound good, I can call in sushi and some hot girls to eat it off of for lunch.” Tommy teases but Oliver isn’t listening. 

Oliver makes it to the ground level of the cottage and grabs his friend by the shoulder. With a tight grip, he firmly pivots him back to the door. 

“You know Tommy, I’ll give you a call when I’m ready for that but today is really not a good day for me.” Oliver rushes, praying he can get Tommy out in time.

“Oliver, hey man chill. We don’t have to go out but I’m not leaving you here alone. I’m here at least for the weekend.” He gestures towards a duffel bag on the floor just inside the front door and shrugs out of Oliver’s grasp as he walks deeper into the cottage, headed towards the kitchen. “I’m not leaving you out here to deal with this solo. Alright?” 

Before Oliver can say anything though, he hears the sound of movement from up above. Oliver looks up just as Felicity appears and when she does, he feels his heart go a little crazy inside his chest. 

Felicity had just been wearing the white dress she’d stolen off a clothesline, and some of Oliver’s old shirts to sleep in. So, Oliver had asked Raisa to take Felicity’s measurements and buy her some much needed clothes. Felicity had marveled at the various articles of clothing and she and Raisa had perused them when Raisa came back with them but Oliver has only seen a few things since this shopping trip was undertaken. 

It turns out, Raisa bought Felicity nightgowns. She’s dressed in one now; a sapphire blue silky little thing with white lace accents along the decolletage. It comes down to mid thigh and it is... _tremendously_ flattering. His heart rate is up just looking at her dressed like that, with her hair cascading down her shoulders in large, loose curls, her eyes blinking sleepily down at him.

“Oliver?” Her voice is soft with sleep and dulled with confusion as she leans against the staircase railing to look at him. She catches sight of Tommy and grows a little shy. “Oh. Hello. I didn’t know you had company.” 

Oliver can feel Tommy’s eyes on him, but he can’t possibly take his own eyes off of Felicity. It’s already been taking a great deal of self restraint not to act on his feelings for her. Seeing her now, unintentionally flaunting her beautiful body in front of him? 

He’s straining the outer limits of his self control, honestly. 

“It’s alright, Felicity. This is my friend Tommy. You’ve heard me talk about him.” Oliver explains and Felicity brightens a little because yes, Oliver’s spoken of his best friend and Felicity clearly remembers him from the stories. 

“Oh! It’s wonderful to meet you. Oliver speaks very highly of you.” Felicity beams and gives a shy wave before glancing around. 

“And it is just _lovely_ to meet you. Felicity, was it? Oliver didn’t mention that anyone was here with him.” Tommy responds, grinning like a loon.

“I can leave, if you two want time to talk-” Felicity offers, sensing the need for these two friends to get on the same page. 

“No, you can stay.” 

“That would be great.” 

Oliver shoots a dirty look at Tommy, who is grinning like a fool. He clearly wants Felicity to stick around so he can learn more about her and what she’s been up to with Oliver. Oliver wants her all to himself, in truth, and he’d rather not have Tommy corrupting her perception of him. Felicity, however, is all smiles and seems unbothered by the friends’ inability to agree on matters. 

“It’s fine. You two talk. I’ll get dressed and go for a walk.” She disappears back into her room with a parting wave and Tommy rounds on Oliver, gaping.

“Here I am feeling sorry for you and meanwhile you’ve been out here playing beach bum and doing the horizontal salsa with that blonde bombshell? I gotta hand it to you man, even by your high standards, you’ve outdone yourself.” Tommy chortles and Oliver shakes his head, frustrated. 

“It’s not like that, Tommy. Felicity and I… We’re just friends. She’s helping me through things.” 

“ _Sure_ .” Tommy remarks with a wink. “Because _you_ are totally the ‘just friends’ type of guy. You’re _especially_ good at being ‘just friends’ with gorgeous blonde women like that who are way out of your league.” 

“Tommy,” Oliver warns and his friend holds his hands before him innocently.

“I’m just saying. I’ve known you all our lives man. And never once have I known you to be ‘just friends’ with a girl. And I can’t imagine you being ‘just friends’ with one you obviously have feelings for.” 

“How do you know what feelings I do or don’t have? You just showed up here.” 

“Yeah and in that time you’ve done everything in your power to keep her presence here a secret. From _me_ \- your best friend. Ordinarily, you wouldn’t give a rip about a girl coming down while I was over. But you care about this one enough to want her to see the best of you and for your best friend not to blow whatever cool, brave face you’ve been putting on so far.” 

He pauses and the two stare at each other, Oliver feeling as though someone has just turned him inside out and put his emotions on display. It’s not a feeling he particularly relishes, in truth.

“Is it really that obvious?” 

“Probably to everyone but you two, yeah, I’d say so.” Tommy remarks, slapping his friend on the back before he walks into the kitchen and helps himself to a glass of water. “So how long have you two been a thing?” 

“We’re not a thing, Tommy. I was serious about us just being friends.” 

Tommy stops dead mid-pour and stares hard at Oliver.

“You’re serious?” 

Oliver nods.

“You are sleeping across the hall from _that_ and you haven’t done anything? Not even a kiss?” 

“Only if you count a kiss on the forehead or a kiss on the cheek.” Oliver returns and Tommy shakes his head, flabbergasted. 

“You need my help more than I thought.” 

“It’s not that simple, Tommy.” 

“The hell it isn’t. You like her?” Tommy asks and Oliver hesitates, then nods.

“I do. A lot. I think I more than like her, actually.” He’s not sure what prompts him to be this level of forthcoming with Tommy, but he is. And it’s true. Oliver’s not one to throw the word ‘love’ around willy nilly but he’d be kidding himself if he didn’t say he thinks that’s the trajectory his emotions are taking. No girl has ever occupied his mind so fully, or left his heart in knots the way she has, completely unintentionally. 

Tommy lets out a low whistle and shakes his head slowly. This is a new shade for Oliver and Tommy can see it too, is just as surprised by it as Oliver is himself. 

“I never thought I’d see the day. Oliver Queen, you smitten kitten, you.” 

“It’s complicated. She… She can’t stick around. She lives… _far_ away. And I can’t go with her. She’s only here for a little while and then she’s got to head back.” Oliver tries to explain. The absolute truth would be too much - and it wouldn’t be believable without being able to see Felicity transform, which is not a possibility until Felicity is ready to return to the ocean, which Oliver is _really_ hoping won’t be for a while still. So, a modified version of the truth will have to suffice. 

“Bullshit, man. If you really do love her, you find a way. But to start with, you gotta tell her how you feel.” 

Oliver nods, exhaling slowly. _Easier said than done_. Even if he admits to her how he truly feels, it won’t change anything. She’ll still have to leave. They’ll both still end up heartbroken. And after she’s gone, it’ll be seven long years before she’s back. 

He’s disrupted from his thoughts by Tommy slapping him on his bare chest, making his skin sting.

“Alright beefcake. Go get dressed. Unless parading around bare chested is all part of your plan to woo her.” Tommy teases, prompting Oliver to give him a mock baleful glare. As he goes back upstairs to change (and hopefully catch Felicity before she leaves for her walk), he can’t help but chuckle. Tommy being here is an unexpected turn of events but somehow, Oliver’s grateful for it. Tommy knows him and is able to help give him perspective that Oliver himself lacks. 

\-----

Oliver is pleasantly surprised to find that Felicity and Tommy get along rather well. Together, all three of them venture to the farmer’s market in town and they pick up fresh ingredients for a special dinner in honor of Tommy’s visit. 

While out and about, Tommy points out the local ice cream shop and ducks inside, only to re-emerge with three cones. Felicity is a little confused until Oliver pointedly begins to eat his and she copies him, delighting in the cold temperature of the food and the sweetness of it. The ice cream melts fast in the summer sun and in short order Felicity is licking ice cream off her lips, her hands, even her nose has some on it.

It takes all of his power not to kiss the spot off her nose. Instead, he dabs it with a napkin for her and they share a smile before she thanks Tommy for the treat. When Oliver’s world expands to include Tommy again, he realizes his best friend has been watching him and Felicity with an expression of wonderment. 

They stroll down mainstreet, window shopping and laughing. Felicity is intrigued by all the stores selling seashells and sand dollars and driftwood. It baffles her that people don’t want to go collecting such treasures on their own.

At one point, Felicity ducks into a shop that has a little music box on display that catches her attention and Tommy and Oliver are left to linger outside, waiting and watching.

“So Felicity…” Tommy trails off, his tone gentle; he knows the subject matter is delicate. “She’s...different.” 

Oliver chuckles, his hands in his pockets and he nods. This is, perhaps, the understatement of the century. And yet it’s one that everyone who has met her so far keeps echoing. As if Oliver needed further reminder of how set apart from his world Felicity is. 

“Yeah, she is.” 

“What’s that about?” 

“She’s not from around here. Everything here is completely new to her.” 

“Okay sure, but ice cream? She acted like she’s never had it before.” 

“I don’t think she has, actually.” Oliver confesses truthfully and Tommy can only stare, wide eyed.

“What kind of hell did she escape from if there’s no ice cream where she’s from?” 

“I don’t know Tommy… The bottom of the sea?” Oliver offers up, holding his breath as he awaits his best friend’s response. Thankfully, he’s dismissive.

“Ooh yeah, the bottom of the sea. Real funny man. I’m serious. Where’s she from?” 

The words leave his mouth just as Felicity emerges from the store, looking positively exhilarated.

“Up north.” She chirps as she takes Oliver’s hand in hers as if it’s the most natural thing in the world for friends to do. Which honestly, she might not realize that it isn’t, but he hasn’t got the heart to tell her - he loves the feel of her hand in his too much to relinquish this small act of intimacy now. Their fingers twine comfortably together and the trio resumes walking together. 

“What like… Canada?” Tommy queries and Felicity flashes him a smile. 

“Yes Tommy, like Canada.”

Oliver catches her eye as she finishes answering Tommy and the pair smile. Felicity, he’s recently learned, spends most of the year off the eastern coast of Canada - Newfoundland and Labrador, the Prince Edward Islands, and occasionally Nova Scotia. When she wants a change of scenery, she heads across the Atlantic, to Scotland and Ireland usually. The night of the shipwreck was a very rare instance of her venturing into more tropical waters. Of course, after she left him on the island, she spent the next five years in the surrounding area, keeping an eye on him. As for the States, she has only ventured to this region when following Oliver’s rescue and when coming here to be with him. He’s learned all of this and more over the last week and a half of them talking and spilling their souls to each other.

They wrap up their shopping trip with the purchase of some fireworks (Tommy’s doing, over Oliver’s objections) and then head back for the cottage to prepare dinner. As they stroll back towards Tommy’s car, Oliver and Felicity are still hand in hand and Felicity is leaning her head against Oliver’s shoulder. He knows Tommy is staring but Oliver can’t bring himself to care; this feels good and this feels right. It’s like Felicity was always meant to be at his side. 

\-----

“Tommy, I don’t think that’s such a good idea-” Oliver tries to argue as he clears the dinner table of dishes and puts away the leftovers. 

“Where’s the harm in a little truth or dare. Live a little, man.” 

Still unconvinced, Oliver turns his focus to Felicity. He doesn’t even begin to know how she’ll handle the ‘truth’ portion of the game, should Tommy ask a difficult question. She’s extremely honest, his Felicity. As if sensing that he’s thinking of her, she speaks up suddenly.

“What’s the game?” 

“It’s a spin on truth or dare; you take turns and you can choose to have to tell the truth if asked a question, or to have to perform a dare. The other person is the one who chooses the question and the dare. You have to do it. Failure to answer a question or perform a dare means you have to drink and only one person can drink per round.” Tommy explains succinctly, having caught on by now to the fact that Felicity really is new to everything, even something as straightforward as ‘truth or dare’. 

“Sounds fun.” 

“You’ve never played it with Tommy.” Oliver grumbles, staring nervously at the fully stocked bar. This could be dangerous - and has Felicity ever even had a drink? Can selkies even _get_ drunk? 

“Until tonight.” Felicity remarks, shooting Oliver a devilish grin. “I want to try! It sounds like it could be fun for us all.” 

“Majority rules, dude.” Tommy pats Oliver on the back as he takes the stack of plates out of his hands and shoos his friend out of the kitchen. This done, Tommy then goes about pouring drinks for everyone. It does not escape Oliver’s attention that Tommy is making Felicity’s drink very weak. Tommy, Oliver knows, is more perceptive than he gets credit for and it seems that he too, has realized that Felicity is likely not accustomed to drinking. Least of all with the likes of them.

“For the lady,” he smiles as he finishes whipping up his concoctions, “a hurricane. And for my best bud, a Manhattan. And the same for me.” Tommy holds his drink aloft and clinks it against Oliver’s. “Cheers.” 

Tommy takes a deep drink and Oliver grudgingly follows. Felicity, not about to miss out, takes a sip of her drink and beams after she’s swallowed it down.

“Tommy, this is delicious!” 

“Thank you. I was a bartender in another life.” Tommy teases as the trio settle around the couch. Felicity and Oliver sit side by side on the couch while Tommy takes the loveseat opposite them. 

“Who goes first?” Felicity asks brightly, a little breathless with excitement as she looks from Oliver to Tommy and back again. 

“Why, the lady of course.” Tommy responds before Oliver can get a word in and Felicity beams even as Oliver shoots his friend a warning look. 

“Go easy on her, Tommy.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of doing anything less.” Tommy places a hand over his heart in a mock oath but Oliver’s not convinced. Tommy is many things - intentional is certainly one of them - and Oliver can’t decide what his angle is here, but he’s concerned. 

Focusing on Felicity, Tommy sits forward, staring at her hard as he rests his chin on one hand. He twirls the contents of his glass as he studies her, then suddenly he smiles. 

“Alright, Felicity. What’ll it be? Truth or Dare?”

“Truth!” Felicity chirps brightly, as if this is the most obvious choice in the world, and Oliver feels his pulse quicken. What’s she going to say? If she talks about being from the sea or the like, Tommy is going to assume she’s lying to get out of answering the question and that could get complicated fast. 

“Excellent.” Tommy responds, leaning forward to smile at her almost conspiratorially. “Felicity, what are your feelings towards my best bud over here?” 

She blinks, a little surprised by this question.

“What?”

“Oliver. How do you feel about him - good, bad, ugly? Is he a person you feel anything... _special_ about?” Tommy rephrases and Oliver gnashes his teeth together. This is precisely why he didn’t want to play. This was a bad idea from the get go.

“Felicity you don’t have to answer that-”

“That’s true, you can choose to take a drink. This round. But I’ll just ask it again next round if you do that. And the round after that.” Tommy cuts Oliver off to warn her and Felicity chuckles even as Oliver snaps a little.

“Tommy!”

“Those are the rules, man.” Tommy holds up his hands innocently. Oliver is vibrating with angry energy but before either of them can do or say anything more, Felicity answers the original question.

“Oh. Well that’s easy. I care for him very, very much. I think he’s got a good heart. And he’s kind. He’s a good person and I’m so happy to be here with him right now. He’s my greatest friend. I treasure him more than words can say.” Felicity explains smilingly, her eyes drifting towards Oliver as she explains her feelings for him aloud. And Oliver can’t quite help the blush rising in his cheeks at her words. “Definitely good things. And definitely _not_ bad or ugly things.” Felicity adds with a playful twinkle in her eyes.

“So would you say you like him, or would you use another word, maybe a _stronger_ word than ‘like’ to describe it?” Tommy tries to press for more but Oliver cuts him off.

“Hey, that’s another question. She already answered you. Take a drink for that.” Oliver demands, pointing accusingly in Tommy’s direction. Tommy leans away from Felicity and instantly backs off the questioning as he takes a drink.

“Fair enough, fair enough. Oliver. Your turn. Truth or Dare?” Tommy remarks, his gaze intent on Oliver’s and _oh fuck_. 

In the moment, Oliver’s not sure what’s the worse play here. He strongly suspects, however, that if he chooses ‘dare’, Tommy will dare him to do something untoward with Felicity. And that’s _really_ not how he wants anything of that nature to happen.

“Truth.” 

“Alright Oliver, same question to you about Felicity. How do you feel about her?” Tommy remarks nonchalantly, reclining fully against the back of his seat as he stares his best friend down with a cool expression, even as Oliver glares daggers back. He saw it coming, but that doesn’t make this any more pleasant. Still, he can skirt the ‘l’ word Tommy wants and still stay true to the spirit of the game. 

“I think Felicity is incredible. I also care deeply about her. She has _literally_ saved my life and for that, I am very grateful.” At this, he turns his gaze away from Tommy and over to Felicity, who he begins to speak to as if Tommy isn’t even there. “You are a lifesaver, Felicity. I don’t know where I’d be if it weren’t for you, but I have an idea and it’s not anything good. I think you have the best heart out of anyone I’ve ever met and you are a _good_ person. I love almost everything about you.” He murmurs, swallowing at this last.

 _Almost everything_.

He hates that she can’t stay. He hates that she can never be with him, or he with her. At least, not the way either of them want. He hates that he isn’t able to give her everything she deserves and more. Those things? Those things he doesn’t love. 

Oliver clears his throat and returns his attention to Tommy, who is looking like the cat that got the canary as he glances from Felicity to Oliver and back again. Felicity is positively glowing under Oliver’s praise but he knows her well enough by now to see the shadow of sadness in her eyes that Tommy misses. The ‘almost everything’ line has not escaped her attention.

“Tommy, your turn.” Oliver rumbles, trying to move the game along. He’s hoping that his declaration to Felicity will be enough to cool Tommy’s jets so that the rest of the game can be more friendly and less stressful. Time will tell. 

“I pass.” Tommy remarks with a grin, taking a deep swig from his drink before he fixes Felicity with a smile. “Felicity’s turn! Truth or Dare?” 

Oliver is still gaping in surprise at Tommy’s act of avoidance when Felicity answers him and makes his stomach twist uneasily.

“Dare!” 

_God help him, if Tommy makes her do anything inappropriate..._ Oliver thinks with preemptive rage. But Tommy is smart enough and kind enough not to take advantage of Felicity and be mean. He regards her for a moment, then grins.

“I dare you to give me a hug.” 

She blinks at him in surprise and then smiles.

“That’s not difficult. That’s hardly a dare!” She beams as she gets up and wraps her arms warmly around Tommy’s shoulders. She even plants a kiss on the side of his face and Oliver is suddenly insanely jealous for no damn reason. Tommy has now seen as much, if not more, physical intimacy with Felicity as he has. And perhaps that’s his angle - to inflame Oliver into action through jealousy. Oliver hates that it’s actually working. 

The rest of the game goes by and is relatively uneventful. Felicity gets into the spirit and begins to dodge questions and dares just to give Tommy a hard time, so as the evening wears on, Oliver can tell she’s a little buzzed. Oliver and Tommy, who have been drinking more and drinking far stronger drinks, are a little more than buzzed but still pretty in control. It’s getting late and they decide to do one last round when it happens. 

Tommy has just dared Felicity to hop around the living room on one foot, which proves rather amusing to all involved. It’s Oliver’s turn and he’s still laughing over Felicity’s one-legged adventures when Tommy hits him with it.

“Truth or dare?” Oliver’s been taking truths all night. Felicity leans against him, still laughing at herself as she pleads.

“Oh do a dare! They’re so fun!” 

Emboldened by the liquor, and by the sheer proximity of Felicity, holding onto him and asking him to do it, Oliver can’t resist. If it’s her asking him to, he’ll do it. 

“Dare.” He responds to Tommy with a grin and Tommy leans forward, suddenly serious.

“Kiss Felicity. And I mean a _real_ kiss - none of this forehead or cheek business.” 

Oliver is pretty certain his heart stops beating. The world seems to come to a complete stop around them and Oliver is suddenly sober. 

“Tommy,” he warns, giving his best friend a look that could kill, “cut it out.” 

Felicity is still flush against him, her hand still on his arm. He can’t look at her, so instead he grabs his glass and downs the remainder of it in one fell swoop.

“Pass. Your turn Tommy.” Oliver growls, suddenly in a foul mood. The game finishes with a terse tone, despite Tommy tying a cherry stem with his tongue on a dare from Felicity to do something unusual (her dares are very open ended and generic, so there’s plenty of room for interpretation, unlike Tommy’s very specific, very pointed dares). 

Oliver bids Felicity a stiff goodnight, ignoring Tommy altogether, and he takes the rest of his drink out onto the deck to brood. A few minutes go by before the door opens and he’s surprised to find Felicity, not Tommy, coming out to join him. 

“Tommy said to tell you he says goodnight.” Felicity sighs softly as she comes to stand alongside Oliver at the railing. Oliver nods wordlessly, still too upset with his friend to do or say much more. The pair stand in silence for a few minutes but after a while, Oliver becomes aware of the fact that she’s fidgeting beside him ceaselessly. 

“Felicity,” he murmurs, only for her to shy away from him, “ _Fe-li-ci-ty_.” He draws out her name as he follows after her, reaching a hand out to gently snag her by her upper arm. “What’s wrong?” 

He can see her struggling with the words so he lets her work through it all silently before suddenly, she’s nervously rambling at him.

“I just… Tommy dared you to kiss me and you didn’t. You took a drink rather than kiss me and I guess I just was wondering _why_? I just… If you don’t want me here, I can go. I don’t want to be another person who makes your life more difficult. I came here because... Because I care about you. And I have since the first moment that I saw you. I know that the circumstances might be hard but, I'm willing to try if you are. But if you're not, that's okay too. I just... I need you to tell me. If you want me to go, tell me to go. Tell me you don’t feel the same way for me that I do for you. Because I… I want to be with you, Oliver. And I’m sorry if I didn’t make that clear enough when Tommy asked me how I felt but I didn’t want to say that for the first time when we weren’t alone. So if you don’t feel the same way, just tell me. I can take it. Tell me nothing will ever happen between us.” She breathes, her chest heaving as she lets loose the flood of uncertainty and self doubt she’s been holding onto. 

He’s breathless in the wake of her admission of how she feels. She’s upset that… that he _didn’t_ kiss her? She actually thinks that he didn’t want to? How could she even begin to think that? He wanted to kiss her so much it was like a blade to the chest to resist. 

“Felicity… I want to kiss you so badly it’s physically painful not to, most days. But more than that, I don’t want to hurt you. And we both know you can’t stay here. If I kiss you, and I cross that line? It’s only going to hurt both of us that much more when you have to go.” He explains, coming to stand before her, his hands cupping her face delicately. “Don’t ask me to say that I don’t want to be with you. Because I want that. I want that more than almost anything.”

His face is so close to hers now, he can see the way her eyelashes tremble and her nostrils flare a little as he says his piece. And he knows that he shouldn’t do this. If he opens this can of worms, there’ll be no putting them back. But instead, Oliver closes the small gap between them, his lips hovering just above hers for a moment.

“Felicity,” he whispers, fearful of taking this plunge, fearful of breaking her heart, and his in the process, “I like you. I like you... a lot." He exhales and shakes his head, his nose nearly brushing hers. "But I'm afraid of hurting you.” 

Felicity, however, is fearless. 

Her face lifts to meet him, her lips brushing his in an exceedingly soft kiss. He feels like he’s been lit up from the inside out and his whole body vibrates as their lips overlap. She exhales softly as the kiss deepens and her breath tastes like a tropical paradise, all orange and sugary grenadine. One hand goes to the nape of his neck and the other splays against his chest. His hands are at her waist, holding her close even as the kiss goes on. His lips are chapped and hers are soft as they open for him, her tongue caressing his with a boldness that shocks and delights him. 

When they finally break apart, she’s suddenly shy and she avoids his gaze, instead she lays her head on his chest as his arms come up to embrace her and hold her there. 

He doesn’t know what he’s doing. His clearly marked line in the sand has been obliterated. So much for not crossing the line that can lead only to heartbreak. But he can’t even begin to act as though he regrets it. He will someday, when she’s gone and he’s left to contend with the loneliness and the missing her. But right now, in this moment, his heart is too full to care. 

Her kiss is a drug and he’s got no intention of sobering up now. 

They stand out under the moonlight for some time longer in companionable silence, both of them dwelling on what they’ve just done, neither of them regretting it even though they’ve tried so hard to avoid getting to this point. But they care so deeply for each other and they’ve gotten so close so fast. She’s literally saved his life and been his guardian angel for years. There’s a level of devotion and commitment shared between them that begs to be acknowledged and is almost impossible to resist. 

Finally, she stirs in his arms and looks up at him sleepily. 

“We should probably get some rest.” She sighs and he nods, one hand gently brushing the hair away from her face before he presses a single, chaste kiss to her lips. They stare knowingly into each other’s eyes and then, together, they head back into the house and to their respective rooms. 

As Oliver passes Tommy’s closed bedroom door, he shakes his head. Damn the man. Oliver owes him now.


End file.
